


The Handyman

by melissa_42



Category: Father Brown (2013)
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:27:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25025389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissa_42/pseuds/melissa_42
Summary: When Sid Carter's new friend refuses to reveal his alibi after being taken into police custody on suspicion of murder, Father Brown finds himself on the case.
Relationships: Sid Carter/Original Male Character(s)
Kudos: 15





	The Handyman

**Author's Note:**

> I present to you my humble contribution to this fandom: case fic and gay romance (or at least gay friends-with-benefits) involving an OC, all of which is of interest to no one but myself. Enjoy. (Now why can't I be this inspired by plot bunnies that actual humans want to read?)
> 
> To avoid spoilers, specific content warnings are listed in the end notes, though there's nothing in this story that you probably wouldn't see on the show.

Father Brown pedaled down the streets of Kembleford, smiling at the warmth of the sun on his face and the lilting serenade of birdsong. He had spent a productive morning making the rounds to check in on some of the more elderly members of his congregation. Everyone had been pleased to see him and was in tip top condition, except for Steve Armstrong, who had a bit of a cough—he would have to remember to send Mrs. McCarthy over with some soup later.

He pulled to a stop in front of the presbytery, noting the bike with the sharp, red paint job already parked there. When he opened the door, he could hear the chatter of voices and some metallic clanking coming from the kitchen, where he found Mrs. McCarthy, Lady Felicia, and Sid seated around the table. A young man who looked vaguely familiar, but whom he didn’t think he had formally met before, was bent over the hob, twisting a screwdriver into its guts.

“Oh, Father Brown!” Mrs. McCarthy called when she noticed him. “How were the parishioners?”

“Good, good, though Mr. Armstrong could do with some of your hearty chicken soup.” He eyed the torn apart hob. “Though we might have to make it the old fashioned way, over an open fire?”

“Ah, yes, the finicky thing wouldn’t start when Lady Felicia stopped to chat about the upcoming fundraiser for that new charity…”

“The National Fund for Poliomyelitis Research,” Lady Felicia supplied. “We’re raising funds to find a polio vaccine.”

“I would very much like to hear more about that,” Father Brown said. “That God has given us the tools to prevent disease, within the disease itself—truly fascinating.”

“Yes, yes,” Mrs. McCarthy continued. “Well, I went to put the kettle on, but of course only the gas came out. Sid was afraid it would blow up in his face if he touched it, so he suggested we call on his friend for help.”

“We’re making due with scones and milk,” Lady Felicia said, raising one of said scones, “While young Ernie here performs surgery.”

The man at the cooker turned from his work at the sound of his name. He had light brown hair that was slicked back smartly in a side part, warm brown eyes, and an easy smile on his broad face. He wiped his hand on his trousers and stuck it out for Father Brown to shake. “Ernie Hudson, Father, it’s nice to meet you. Sid and the ladies here have been telling me all about you.”

“All good things, I hope?”

“But of course, Father,” Mrs. McCarthy interjected.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Father Brown told the boy, patting his left hand over their clasped ones.

“Yours as well, Father. You keep good company. I think Lady Felicia’s a right angel for helping with the polio vaccine. My cousins both got it when we were younger. One of them passed, and the other still has to wear a brace to walk. I got lucky; it just hit me like the ‘flu.”

“I’m so sorry about your family, Ernie.”

“Ernie’s recently moved to Kembleford from Oxford, to help his cousin, Bill Reeves, with his repair service,” Lady Felicia said. Ernie saluted with his screwdriver and turned back to finish the job. “He’s quite excellent with his hands,” she continued, eyeing his long, dexterous fingers. Mrs. McCarthy snorted and rolled her eyes.

“He might be good with his hands, but I can still beat him at darts,” Sid said with a cocky smirk at Ernie’s back. Ernie turned and said, “That was only after you’d got a few pints in me. Try me in a fair match, we’ll see how you do then. Begging your pardon, ladies, Father.” He smiled sheepishly at the rest of them.

“Perhaps we could have a tournament some time, eh?” Father Brown said. “I was quite fond of darts, back in my day.”

Mrs. McCarthy discreetly crossed herself.

Ernie turned the knob on the hob a few clicks. “All right, just need to turn the gas back on and check it lights up.”

Lady Felicia craned her neck to watch him walk outside to the main gas valve around the corner, before turning back to smile affably. “Excellent recommendation, Sidney,” she said. “I’ll have to see if we have any work of our own that needs to be done around the house.”

Sid snorted and shook his head as his friend returned.

Ernie turned the knob again, and this time a circle of blue flame flickered up. He clapped his hands together. “All finished. The igniter just needed replacing.”

“Oh, thank you so much.” Mrs. McCarthy rose to pay him with presbytery funds. “Would you like to stay for a cup of tea, now that I can make one?”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I have to be heading back now. I appreciate the offer, though; you’re a good lady to do so.” Ernie packed up his tools into his grey metal box and went to wash his hands in the sink. “Just let me know if it gives you trouble again.”

Mrs. McCarthy put a hand to her chest, flustered. “Such manners! You could learn something from him, Sidney.” she shot at Sid, who raised his hands in mock surrender. “Well, we’ll just have to have you over some time when you’re not working.”

“That would be kind of you.” He pointed at Sid. “Fishing tomorrow, yeah? 8 o’clock at the pond off Cuthbert?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Sid said.

“I’ll see you then.” Ernie smiled at the crowd and nodded at each of them in turn. “I hope you all have a good rest of the day. Enjoy your tea.” Then he strode out the kitchen and to his bike. He strapped the toolbox on the back, waved at the watchers in the doorway, and pedaled away.

* * *

Ernie set his toolbox in the little workshop in his cousin’s back garden and entered the house through the back door, where he immediately shucked off his boots. “I’m back,” he called. “Just finished the job at the Church.” He went to the kitchen, where he found his cousin’s wife, Marjorie, cleaning a chicken.

Marjorie washed her hands and wiped them on a towel before accepting the money Ernie handed off to her. “Did it go well?” She asked as she counted the money off into a box in one of the cabinet drawers and scribbled down the amount on her accounting pad.

“Well, I wasn’t struck down for bollocksing up a man of God’s hob,” Ernie said with a grin.

Marjorie rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight down her smile. “I hope you didn’t use that kind of language in front of Mrs. McCarthy.”

“Of course not! I was the very picture of propriety.”

“I’m sure you were.” Marjorie went back to cleaning the chicken, while Ernie set to chopping vegetables. “You’re very good at buttering up old ladies.”

“A skill that will take me far in life,” Ernie told her. He dumped the carrots into the roasting pan sitting on the hob.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Marjorie said.

Ernie shook his head. “It’s the least I can do, what with you and Bill putting me up like this.”

“We’re happy to have you.” When Ernie cocked an eyebrow, she amended, “Well, _I’m_ happy to have you.”

“Where is cheerful Bill, by the way?” Ernie asked, starting on the onions. “I didn’t see the truck out front.”

“The Smythe’s electricity is on the blink again.”

Ernie shook his head. “That whole house needs to be rewired.”

“Keeps us paid, at least,” Marjorie countered. She brushed her wispy blonde hair out of her freckled face with her forearm and said, “Oh, would you mind picking Arthur up from school in a bit?”

Ernie frowned at the yellowing bruise on her inner arm above her elbow. Marjorie quickly put down her arm when she noticed him looking. “Marge—”

She cut him off. “It’s nothing, Ernie. Arthur?”

Ernie slowly nodded and then looked her in the eye with a grim smile. “Sure, I can pick him up. 2 o’clock?”

* * *

The next day was a warm one, and Ernie and Sid lay side by side in the grass with their shirts unbuttoned, fanning themselves lazily with their hats. Their fishing poles were stuck in the ground near the water, and they kept half an eye out for any movement. So far there had been just a few bites, but they had yet to catch anything. The fish must have been feeling as lazy as the men.

Sid hummed. “Guess we’ll have to stop by the pub for dinner, at this rate.”

“Positive thinking,” Ernie chided him. “We’re just waiting for an extra big one. The big mother of all fish.”

Sid snorted. “If only we could eat your positive thinking.”

Ernie gave him a shove and then sat up. “Say, want to go for a swim? Not sure there’s any fish to scare off anyway.”

They pulled off their kits and folded them far enough away from the water to avoid getting wet, reeled in the hooks to avoid any untimely accidents, and then jumped into the pond one after the other with a loud whoop. When Sid came up for air, he was hit in the face with a great splash, courtesy of Ernie. Their antics soon devolved into a water war that ended with Ernie coughing and spluttering, begging for mercy. They floated on the surface of the water for a while before dragging their waterlogged bodies out of the pond to air dry in the grass. The evaporating water felt nice and cool, and Sid folded his arms behind his head and closed his eyes under the glare of the sun.

After a few minutes, a shadow passed over him. He opened his eyes in time to see Ernie hovering over him with a small grin quirking up the corner of his mouth, before the young man leaned down and pressed his lips to Sid’s. Sid registered the electric touch of Ernie’s hand on his shoulder and soft mouth against his own before he shoved him away, heaving for breath. He scrambled up and grabbed for his clothes, tugging them on like armor. He whipped back around and saw Ernie with his hands raised and his shoulders up to his ears. He looked soft and defenseless naked.

“I’m sorry, I get the message,” Ernie said, a slight quaver in his voice. “Please don’t hit me.”

Sid couldn’t make himself unclench his fists, so he turned and ran before he could do anything he regretted.

* * *

Father Brown was in the study writing up a homily when the phone rang. The jangle cut off quickly, and he heard Mrs. McCarthy’s muted voice answer the caller. Then he heard thumping footsteps hurry to the stairs.

“Father Brown, do you know what Sidney Carter has been up to? Brawling at the pub in broad daylight! He’s in a holding cell at the police station drying out right at this moment!”

Father Brown glanced at the clock. It was only just past three. He could admit that Sid was no angel, but even when he did get a bit sauced, he waited until a reasonable hour in the evening to start. He set aside his notes and went downstairs to put on his hat while Mrs. McCarthy followed behind, twisting her hands.

“Let’s see what this is all about, hmm?” he said and led them outside.

They found Sid curled up on the hard bench of one of the cells, groaning. He had the beginnings of a nasty looking black eye, and a cut on his brow.

“Well, I never,” Mrs. McCarthy huffed when she saw him. Sid grimaced at her voice, but didn’t open his eyes.

“The other party has decided not to press charges,” Sergeant Goodfellow told them. “If you’re willing to watch him until he sobers up…?”

“Yes, yes, up you get, Sid.” Father Brown helped the young man sit upright, and then supported him as he stood. Sid leaned heavily on the Father and briefly pressed a hand to the injured side of his face before wincing.

“I believe Mrs. McCarthy has a steak she can spare for that eye,” Father Brown said as the trio slowly made their way back to the Church. Mrs. McCarthy pursed her lips but finally nodded in assent.

By the end of the long trek back, Father Brown was practically dragging Sid along. They deposited him on the sofa, and Mrs. McCarthy went to retrieve the steak and a glass of much needed water.

“Care to explain yourself?” Father Brown asked lightly, once they were alone for a moment.

Sid grunted.

“I thought you were going to be fishing with your friend, Ernie, today. Was he involved in this fight?”

“We’re not friends,” Sid spat. Father Brown exchanged a glance with Mrs. McCarthy, who had returned from the kitchen.

“I see,” Father Brown said, as Mrs. McCarthy placed the glass on the end table and handed the steak for Sid to press to his own eye. “And would this falling out be the reason you were drinking this afternoon?”

“Father,” Sid slurred. “I know you’re doing your whole priestly concern thing, but I really, _really_ don’t want to talk about it. So could you just leave it?”

Mrs. McCarthy huffed and left the room.

“All right,” said Father Brown. “You rest up now. I don’t fancy the headache you’ll have in a few hours, so try and drink some of that water.” Then he followed Mrs. McCarthy into the kitchen.

“Something’s happened with that Hudson boy,” Mrs. McCarthy whispered as soon as he came into sight. “I tell you, he and Sid have been inseparable since he moved here. I always thought he was a nice, polite young man, very unlike that cousin of his he’s staying with—Bill Reeves is a complete lout, I hope you don’t mind me saying so—but perhaps I was wrong? Here I thought he’d have a positive influence on our Sid, and instead he’s off getting into brawls and smelling like a brewery in the middle of the day. The middle of the day, Father!”

“Whatever happened, Sid will tell us if he feels like it,” Father Brown said. “Until then, the best we can do is show him God’s love—no matter how he decides to behave in the meantime,” he continued, cutting off whatever Mrs. McCarthy was going to interject.

* * *

Sid awoke with a terrible hangover and a splitting headache that evening, but didn’t find much sympathy from Mrs. McCarthy when he sat down for dinner with them. He left without explaining himself, and if Father Brown had been hoping he might open up about the incident while sober, he was sorely mistaken.

Sid kept himself busy with Lady Felicia, who had fussed over his shiner and offered some costume makeup that she said worked as an excellent cover up, as well as with his side gig of shifting goods for a business associate. He didn’t ask where the tschotschkes and cigarettes had come from, and his associate didn’t ask about his bruising and cuts. He wished everyone would mind their own business like that.

He managed to keep Ernie Hudson well out of sight, though not so much out of mind, for about a week before Fate brought them together again. He arrived well ahead of schedule at the Montague estate to take Lady Felicia to a garden party in Daylesford, only to find Ernie with his toolbox in the parlor, bent over the radio, while Lady Felicia sat on the sofa, watching him work.

“Oh, Sid, you’re here early,” Lady Felicia called when he was brought by the doorman into the room. Lady Felicia never stood by the custom of keeping the hired help out of sight when her husband was away, so he settled himself in one of the chairs and crossed a leg over his knee. He noted that Ernie’s shoulders had become a stiff line when Lady Felicia had said his name. At least he wasn’t the only one feeling miserable, Sid thought to himself. He squirmed discreetly in his seat.

“I wanted to have the radio looked at before I forgot, and Ernie happened to be free this morning,” Lady Felicia explained. “Though I suppose I had better get ready before we’re more than ‘fashionably late’ to the party. Lady Elspeth would love to rub that in my face.” She rose from her seat. “Lovely to see you, Ernie. If you happen to finish before I come down, Buckley will pay you.”

“Ta, Lady Felicia,” Ernie said, smiling at her while studiously avoiding Sid’s eye. When Lady Felicia’s bright presence exited the room, the men were left in an oppressive silence. Ernie continued working on the radio, while Sid reached into his pocket to fiddle with his lighter, just to give his hands something to do. After a few minutes, Ernie cleared his throat. Sid glanced up at him, and found Ernie looking at the table in between them and picking at his cuticles.

“Look, I’m really sorry about last week,” Ernie said. “I promise, it won’t happen again. And I, erm, appreciate that you haven’t gone spreading around what happened. Or beat me to a pulp for it.”

Sid put his lighter away before he accidentally set something on fire. “Why’d you do it?”

“Hmm?”

“I mean.” Sid flushed as he tried to sort through all the questions he’d had on repeat in his head that week. “Did you think I was a poof, or something?”

“Ah.” Ernie scratched at his cheek. “Not particularly. I mean, not any more than the next bloke. Just thought I’d give it a try and hope for the best.”

Sid’s brow furrowed. “You do that a lot? ‘Hope for the best’? Sounds like a recipe for getting your nose permanently broken.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Ernei said with a soft laugh and a wry grin. “‘s why I usually went for swots back in Oxford. Stronger in the brains than the fists.”

“That’s awful.”

Ernie shrugged. “You’ve never been slapped by a girl you tried it on with?”

“I don’t think that’s quite the same.”

“I suppose not. Still, made it out with my face intact this time, thanks much.” Ernie eyed Sid’s now mostly faded bruise. The swelling had gone down, so it was just a sickly ring of yellow around the eye socket and pooling in the tender skin under his eye. “You look like you were in a punch up, though. What happened?”

Sid glanced up at the ceiling. “Got a bit pissed after...after we went swimming. Tried to take my nerves out on the toughest guy in the bar. Not my proudest moment.”

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault I’m an idiot.” They lapsed back into an awkward silence. Ernie went back to screwing the radio back together, but looked up again when Sid asked in a rush, “What were you hoping would happen?”

“What?”

“After you…” Sid swallowed and forced himself to say it. “After you kissed me. What were you hoping would happen?”

Ernie put down his tools slowly. “Are you sure you want to know?” he asked warily.

Sid nodded with bravado he didn’t feel.

“Well,” Ernie started, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “I was hoping we’d snog for a while. Rub one out together. Maybe I’d suck you off, if you were up for it.”

Sid swallowed heavily as that image assaulted him, but didn’t interrupt.

“Then we’d laze around in the sun afterward. And if I was really lucky, it might happen again the next time we met up.” Ernie huffed out a sigh. “And now I’ve definitely bollocksed up any chance of us ever being friends again, telling you all that. I promise, I’ll leave you alone, now I know you’re not interested. I really liked spending time with you, just as friends, you know.”

“I might be interested,” Sid muttered. He was sure his face would burst into flames at any moment. He never felt this tongue tied around women, but for some reason, the thought of Ernie touching him again, brief as it had been the first time, turned his brain to sludge. Sexy sludge, but sludge nonetheless.

Ernie stared at him with his mouth open.

“Sid, I’m ready to go,” Lady Felicia called from the foyer. Both men jumped at the interruption and then looked at each other sheepishly.

“Come by my place tonight,” Sid said quickly as he rose to leave, “around eight? We can play cards and...see what happens…?”

Ernie bobbed his head wordlessly, still staring at Sid with big, hopeful eyes.

Sid thought of those warm brown eyes, and those long fingers, and that soft red mouth the whole rest of the day.

* * *

The next morning, Ernie rode his bike through the quiet streets on the way back to the Reeves’ house, unable to keep the grin off his face. The conversation with Sid at Lady Felicia’s the day before had been more than he had hoped for in mending their friendship, but then last night… Last night had been like a dream. The best dream ever. Ernie’s cheeks would be hurting by the end of the day from smiling so much.

He rounded the last bend before his destination and came up short at the scene before him. In the street in front of his cousin’s house were a cop car and an ambulance, into which a group of men were loading a body on a gurney. Ernie pumped his legs hard the last bit of the journey and skidded to a stop in front of the house. 

“Margie?!” he shouted as he dropped his bike in the grass, for once not caring if it got scratched. One of the men in police uniform, who were standing in the garden, caught him by the arm before he could run into the house. He looked down to see blood in the grass and felt a wave of nausea crash over him.

“Who are you?” a different man in a grey suit and fedora demanded.

“Ernest Hudson. I live here; it’s my cousin’s house, Bill Reeves.” Ernie tried to crane his neck to see through kitchen windows, and then back to the ambulance, which was already pulling away. “What happened? Are Margie and Arthur all right?”

“Inspector Mallory,” the man in the suit said, flashing an official looking badge before tucking it back in his pocket. “Bill Reeves has been shot. Where were you last night?” he asked, ignoring Ernie’s questions.

“Out, with a friend,” Ernie answered, before repeating, “What happened?”

“And can this ‘friend’ confirm you were accounted for all of last night?”

Ernie stared at the man, and realized that he was being asked to supply an alibi. He bit his lip and gave a small shake of his head.

One of the officers searching the Reeves’ truck called out, “Inspector, look.” He withdrew his arm from the open passenger window and held up a revolver in his gloved hand.

“Murder weapon, if I’ve ever seen one,” Inspector Mallory said. He turned back to Ernie. “And do you think we’ll find your prints on it?”

Ernie squinted at the gun. ”If that’s Bill’s, then probably, yeah. I’ve cleaned it for him before. He usually keeps it locked up, though.”

“Right. Sergeant, take this man to the station for questioning.”

Ernie stumbled along with the sergeant in a daze as he was led to the police vehicle. As the officer covered his head to protect him as he was deposited in the back seat, Ernie asked again, “Margie and Arthur? Please?”

“They’re fine,” the officer told him with a brief nod.

Ernie breathed a sigh of relief.

* * *

“Father Brown, Father Brown, you’ll never guess what’s happened,” Mrs. McCarthy cried, dashing into the kitchen.

Father Brown looked up from his breakfast and morning crossword, and asked, “What’s that, Mrs. McCarthy?”

“I was just on the phone with Mrs. Fogerty, you know she lives just down the street from the Reeves, and she said she was woken up by a loud bang this morning, but she thought it was just a dream, so she went back to sleep, none the wiser, but then when she went out to get the milk, there was such a commotion in the Reeves’s front garden—police and ambulance and everything.” Mrs. McCarthy paused for a deep breath. “And _apparently_ Bill Reeves was _murdered_ last night, right in the front garden of his own house, and the police have taken _Ernest Hudson_ in for questioning! Murdered by his own _cousin_ , whom he was _generously_ letting stay with him, can you believe it?!”

“That is quite unbelievable,” Father Brown answered, folding up his napkin. “I would very much like to hear from Mr. Hudson what’s happened. You say he’s been taken down to the station?”

On the walk to the station, bicycle in tow just in case, Mrs. McCarthy regaled Father Brown with further details, courtesy of Mrs. Fogerty, who had apparently heard about the case directly from Marjorie Reeves herself. Marjorie had found her husband in the front garden that morning, unresponsive and bleeding sluggishly from a gunshot wound to his temple. She had gone to find her cousin-in-law for help, but the boy hadn’t been in the house, and in fact had come riding in on that flashy bicycle of his, devil-may-care, only after the police had arrived on the scene, and then he’d had the _nerve_ to say he couldn’t reveal where he’d been all night, but they’d found the gun right where he’d left it in Bill’s truck, so the jig was up (colorful commentary most certainly added to the story somewhere along the grapevine, Father Brown assumed).

As soon as Father Brown and Mrs. McCarthy set foot inside the police station, Inspector Mallory rushed out of his office, shouting at Sergeant Goodfellow, “You told me you couldn’t get a hold of him.”

“Has someone been asking for me?” Father Brown inquired pleasantly.

“Wants to confess to a bloody priest but not to the police,” the Inspector muttered to himself, and then turned a wagging finger at the both of them, commanding, “You are not to interfere with police business. Ernest Hudson has refused to give an alibi that can be corroborated. This case is as easy as they come and I will not have you making it _complicated_ for us, do you hear me?”

“Perish the thought. I would never wish to stand in the way of justice served,” Father Brown agreed. “Now, Sergeant Goodfellow, if you wouldn’t mind showing me to Mr. Hudson’s cell?”

The sergeant led the priest to the same cell that Sid had occupied not a week prior and closed the door behind him. Ernie Hudson sat on the bench with his head in his hands, not looking up to see who had joined him.

Father Brown sat beside the young man, flipped his confessional stole around his neck, and folded his hands in his lap. “I’m here to take your confession, Ernie.”

“I didn’t do it,” Ernie mumbled into his hands.

Father Brown nodded. “But there _is_ something you wish to confess.”

“Sid told me you help people out. People in this sort of situation.”

“Sid is correct. I understand that you’ve refused to give an alibi for yourself.” He glanced at Ernie, who sat silent and still. “Do you understand that you’re to be charged for a crime for which you may be hanged?”

Ernie sniffled, and his entire body quaked. “I swear on my life, I didn’t kill Bill. I didn’t even know he’d been hurt until I got home this morning.”

“Ernie, am I to assume you’re protecting someone else who can confirm your whereabouts last night?”

The young man’s nod was small, but there for the priest to see.

“Do you understand that I am bound by the Seal of Confession not to repeat anything you say here? I want to help you, but it would be useful to understand what we’re working with.”

“I’m sorry, Father,” Ernie whimpered.

Father Brown silently sighed. “May I presume the other party involved may be in danger should you reveal you spent the night with them.”

Ernie nodded again. Then, in a very small voice that Father Brown had to lean in to hear, he whispered, “I was at Sid’s trailer.”

Father Brown blinked, filed that revelation away next to Sid’s mysterious bar brawl last week, and said, “Ah. I understand.”

Ernie sat up straighter. He wiped a hand across his eyes. “I’m not—I’m not going to apologize for that. I don’t feel sorry for it. But I can’t tell the police, see?” He paused and finally turned to Father Brown, looking at him imploringly. “And please don’t think poorly of Sid for it. He’ll be feeling guilty enough as it is, once he finds out.”

“Of course.” Father Brown placed a hand on Ernie’s shoulder, which relaxed just a smidge in response. “Well, we’ll just have to find the real culprit then. Ernie, can you think of anyone who may have wished your cousin harm?”

Ernie shook his head thoughtfully. “No one specifically. He wasn’t exactly the nicest person to be around, but I don’t think he had any enemies. I’m pretty sure their finances were fine; Margie kept track of all that.” Ernie flushed and scowled. “He hit her, you know? She never wanted me to tell anyone, but I don’t think that matters much now.”

Father Brown nodded. He had been aware of the abuse in the Reeves house through both Bill and Marjorie, but with Marjorie maintaining that she didn’t want any help and that her son had never been hurt, the priest had felt his hands tied. He had done his best to try and guide Bill Reeves to a kinder, gentler life, but with little success. He hated to consider it, but perhaps Mrs. Reeves, ever independent in dealing with her problems, had decided to take matters into her own hands? It was a possibility, if nothing else.

“Thank you, Ernie, you’ve been very helpful. I’ll have Mrs. McCarthy stop by with a care package to be sure you’re properly fed, while we endeavor to free you.” He rose from the bench, but was stopped by Ernie’s hand in his sleeve.

“Would you check on Sid, please? Make sure he’s all right?” Ernie asked. 

Father Brown gave him a brief, warm smile. “Of course.”

Outside the cell, Father Brown went directly to Inspector Mallory’s office. “Has Mr. Hudson been charged with a crime, yet?”

“We’re still processing evidence,” the inspector grumbled. “Bill Reeves was shot in front of his house, and Hudson wasn’t in his bed this morning when Mrs. Reeves called it in. He didn’t show up until we were already there. No alibi, and his prints were all over the murder weapon.”

“Bill was shot, yes?”

“That’s right. By his own gun.” He picked up a piece of paper from his desk and waved it in the priest’s face. “I have the ballistics report right here.”

“And Ernie had gunshot residue on his hands?”

Inspector Mallory pursed his lips. “He had plenty of time to wash them before he turned up.” He pointed a finger at Father Brown. “Keep your nose out of my investigation.”

“What is his motive?”

“Two men and a pretty lady living in a house together. You do the math. Now.” The inspector stood and gestured at the door. “Good. Day.”

Father Brown joined Mrs. McCarthy by the intake desk. She waited until they were outside before asking, “So, did he do it?”

“I cannot reveal the contents of our conversation. I’d like to confirm his alibi myself, but as of now, I do believe the Inspector has been hasty in arresting Ernie.”

“He must have been up to something illegal if he didn’t want to tell the police about it,” Mrs. McCarthy said.

“While I’m off to check, I was thinking it might be nice if we could have some food to give Mrs. Reeves and her son. And Ernie, whether he’s still being held, or back home.

Mrs. McCarthy blinked. “Oh, oh yes, that would be nice. I think little Arthur liked those hand pies I made for the Church fête last month.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea.”

While Mrs. McCarthy hurried back to the presbytery to complete her mission, Father Brown rode out to Sid’s trailer to complete his own. He was very cognizant of the last time someone had tried to claim Sid as an alibi for murder, though he doubted that Ernie would try pulling the wool over a priest’s eyes with claims of homosexuality. It didn’t exactly invite sympathy in the average man of the cloth.

He pulled up to Sid’s trailer and knocked on the door, waiting a few moment’s until he heard Sid call out a sleepy ‘Wazzit?”

“Sid, it’s Father Brown. I was wondering if I might talk to you about something quite pressing?”

Sid opened the door in a half buttoned shirt, still doing up his trousers, which had obviously been rescued from the floor. “Whassa matter?”

“Ernie Hudson has been taken into custody by the police this morning,” Father Brown explained. “He’s being questioned regarding the murder of his cousin, Bill Reeves, last night. The problem is, he’s refusing to tell the police his alibi.”

Sid gaped dumbly at him, and then sat down heavily in his doorway. “Ernie? He couldn’t have—” Sid quickly shut his mouth.

“Sid, I don’t mean to be uncouth,” Father Brown said carefully. “But could you tell me if you are aware of Mr. Hudson’s whereabouts last night?” He thought about Grace Fitzgerald, the brewer’s daughter, and amended that to, “ _All_ of last night?”

Sid nodded, refusing to meet Father Brown’s eye. “He definitely, definitely didn’t do it. Unless it was after he got home…?”

“He arrived after the police. Allegedly, of course.”

Sid scrubbed a hand across his face, stood up, and kicked the side of his trailer. “Bloody Hell, this is God’s idea of a laugh, innit? Let the dirty queers have their fun, then get one of them hanged for murder in the morning.”

“God has done no such thing,” Father Brown retorted sternly. “A flesh and blood human has murdered Bill Reeves under their own power, not as an emissary of a vengeful God who uses people as his playthings. The fact that these two events happened on the same night is merely a coincidence.”

Sid turned to him with wild eyes. “We’ve got to find out who really done it.”

“I agree. Now, I think you ought not be alone today. Ernie was very concerned about you feeling guilty about what’s happened. Let’s not worry him too much; he has enough on his plate at the moment, hmm? Are you on duty today with Lady Felicia?”

Sid shook his head. “I’m coming with you, Father.”

“Right now I have a widow to comfort. If and when I need your help, I will let you know. In the meantime, why don’t you go to the presbytery and help Mrs. McCarthy? I believe she mentioned making hand pies for the Reeves. 

“Hand pies.” Sid repeated flatly. “You want me to help Mrs. McCarthy bake?”

“Think of it as moral support,” Father Brown said, “and quality control.”

* * *

After seeing Sid on his way, Father Brown’s next stop was the scene of the crime. The police entourage had cleared out by the time he arrived, so he was able to enter the front garden unimpeded. There in the grass just off the pavement was a rusty stain soaked into the dirt, and some scuff marks where Bill must have fallen. Father Brown bent down closer to the imprint in the ground but found nothing else that jumped out at him—no footprints or wayward buttons or helpful calling cards. He stood back up with a wince at the creaking of his knees and strode up to knock on the front door. After a few moments, Marjorie Reeves opened it, peeking out with bloodshot eyes.

“Oh, hello, Father. I expect you’ve heard the news.” She said.

“Indeed I have. I thought I might stop by to see how you and Arthur are doing.”

Marjorie looked up at the ceiling. “He’s upstairs sleeping now. I’ve kept him home from school. Not sure if it’s quite hit him yet. Don’t think it’s hit either of us yet,” she said, nonplused. “Oh, I’m sorry, where are my manners. Would you like to come in? I could use some tea myself.”

“That sounds lovely, thank you.” He followed her into the kitchen, where she filled a kettle with water to heat up before slumping into a chair. They sat in silence until the kettle whistled, and she was drawn from her daze to prepare the tea. She set one cup in front of Father Brown, spilling a bit on the table.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said.

“I believe you’re in shock, Marjorie,” Father Brown said gently.

She frowned. “You know, I didn’t much like Bill in the first place. I’m not sad he’s gone.” She looked up. “Is that horrible to say? I’m sad Arthur has lost his father, but I’m not sad I’ve lost my husband.”

“I think that’s understandable, given the circumstances.”

“I suppose so.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe Ernie killed him. I always thought he was so gentle. But he hated what Bill did to me.”

“Marjorie, would you mind walking me through what happened?” Father Brown asked after a sip of tea. “I’ve heard the story secondhand, but it would help to hear your perspective. If you’re feeling up for it, of course.”

  
  


“Of course, no, let’s see.” She stared off into the middle distance. “I woke up this morning, early. Not exactly sure what time, but the sun was just barely up, and Arthur hadn’t gotten up for school yet. Bill wasn’t in bed, but he has trouble sleeping sometimes, so I figured he was just kipping down in the armchair. I came down to make some tea and get the bread started, and when I looked out the kitchen window, I could see Bill lying face up in the garden. I thought maybe he’d, oh, I don’t know, sleep walked or something, and had ended up outside, so I went out to wake him up. Except, when I shook him, he didn’t move or make a sound at all, and that’s when I saw the blood on the ground and in his hair. I ran back inside to get Ernie, but he wasn’t in his room. His bed was still made up all nice—he never makes it up nice like that, so I knew he must not have slept in it since I’d put the sheets on yesterday. So I ran to call the police, and then told Arthur to stay in his room—I must have been making a bit of noise by then, and he’d tried coming down the stairs, but I didn’t want him to see his dad like that. And then after the police were here, and they’d told me that Bill was already dead, and that there was nothing I could have done to help him, and they’d loaded him up to take him away, that’s when Ernie showed up on his bike. I could see him through the window, right here, and he looked shocked, but I just don’t know.” She turned from looking out the window back to Father Brown. “Maybe he didn’t mean to kill him? He’s such a good boy, he’s been so good to us since he came. And things weren’t perfect with Bill, but they were a bit easier with Ernie in the house.” She rubbed at her forehead. “What am I going to tell his mother?”

“I don’t believe that Ernie killed your husband,” Father Brown told her, “but the police believe he did. Did you hear anything at all during the night?”

“I’m afraid I’m a rather sound sleeper,” she said. “That was one way in which Bill and I were compatible. He never woke me up when he came to bed late or got up in the middle of the night.”

“I see. And do you know of anyone else who might have wanted to kill Bill, or who had a disagreement with him? Had he been acting at all strange these past few days?”

Marjorie stared at him with tears in her eyes. “Do you really think Ernie is innocent?”

Father Brown reached out to pat her hand. “I cannot tell you why, but yes, I do believe so.”

“Thank God,” she cried, and then took a deep breath. “I want to help him, but I don’t know who else might have done it. Bill was very private, even with me. I didn’t know much about his doings outside the house, and I never much cared. I guess I figured, if I minded my own business, he’d leave me alone. He wasn’t a gambler, or at least if he was, he wasn’t using our money. He went to the pub a bit more than I’d’ve liked, but he wasn’t drinking us out of house and home.”

“Could he have gotten into a disagreement at the pub?”

She shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. He had a temper when he’d come home drunk, but I don’t know what he was like outside the house. I’m sorry.”

“That’s quite all right. Thank you for your help.” Father Brown set down his empty tea cup and rose from the table. “I’m so sorry for your loss, even if you’re just mourning the loss of your child’s father. If you need anything at all, you know where to find me. And God is with you always, even if we sometimes cannot see him in the details. You are not alone.”

Marjorie followed him to the front door, but before she closed it on him, she said, “If it helps at all, I don’t think he’s actually been to the pub all week. His leg had been acting up—the paralyzed one. I think he was trying to keep up his strength for work. He hated for people to think him weak, you know.” She bit her lip. “I think it made him feel good, that at least he was stronger than me.”

“That may very well be,” Father Brown said gravely. “But you are stronger of will than he ever was. Take care Marjorie.”

* * *

Father Brown returned home to find Mrs. McCarthy scolding Sid and Lady Felicia at fork-point over a table full of pastries.

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times: if you put that much filling in, they’ll burst,” she cried. “Honestly, you are both as hopeless in the kitchen as Father Brown.”

“How’s the cook-off coming along?” Father Brown said from the doorway, startling the trio.

“Oh, quite well. We’re just putting everything together now,” Mrs. McCarthy said, while Sid shook his head tightly and Lady Felicia rolled her eyes.

“Had any luck with your lead?” Sid ask, sidling away from Mrs. McCarthy, who took over the job of filling the pasties while still listening at rapt attention.

“Hmm, debatable. I’ve just been to see Mrs. Reeves. It seems she is a rather deep sleeper and thus didn’t hear anything suspicious in the middle of the night. And she was the first to find her husband, with no witnesses around.”

“You don’t think—?!” Lady Felicia gasped.

“No, no, I don’t believe Mrs. Reeves was the culprit, but we cannot currently prove that.

“Nor can we prove it wasn’t Mr. Hudson,” Mrs. McCarthy pointed out. “Not without that alibi, which apparently only _you_ have heard?”

Father Brown nodded decisively.

“And you are _quite_ sure you believe him?”

“I do.”

“Hmmm.” Mrs. McCarthy stared at him. Sid propped his arm on the back of the chair and stared over his shoulder.

“Neither Ernie nor Marjorie were able to point the finger at any other leads,” Father Brown continued. “According to the both of them, Bill wasn’t in any apparent money troubles, and while he was universally...not particularly well liked, he didn’t have any enemies.” He pursed his lips in thought. “Mrs. McCarthy, you called him a ‘lout’, the other day. What did you mean by that?”

“Well,” Mrs. McCarthy huffed, “they may have tried to keep it a secret, but it was common knowledge that Mr. Reeves was rough with his wife, and that he was a drunk when he wasn’t working.”

“He was a regular at the local,” Sid added, “though I can’t remember ever seeing him cause a scene.”

“Unlike some people we know,” Mrs. McCarthy said, looking down her nose at the pies she was closing up. 

Sid scowled.

“And what if they were working together, hmm?” Lady Felicia suggested. “The lady falls in love with her husband’s younger, handsomer cousin, they plot together to get the husband out of the way…”

“This is not one of your sordid pulp novels,” Mrs. McCarthy tutted.

“You’d think they’d have figured out better alibis for each other,” Sid said, raising an eyebrow at Father Brown.

Lady Felicia hummed. “Well, if it wasn’t about love, then it was probably about money, right?”

“The both of them said there was nothing amiss with the accounts,” Father Brown reminded her.

“Doesn’t mean he weren’t doing something off the books, eh?” Sid said. He got up. “I can ask ‘round the usual crowd, see if anyone’s heard anything.”

“The usual crowd? You wouldn’t be part of this usual crowd, would you?” Mrs. McCarthy asked. Sid left without deigning to respond.

“Poor Sid; I understand he and Ernie are quite close,” Lady Felicia said.

“Right you are,” Father Brown replied.

* * *

Sid had not returned when the pies were finished and cooled a while later, so Mrs. McCarthy left a note in the kitchen letting him know they’d gone to deliver them to the Reeves.

Marjorie was surprised to see Father Brown again so soon, but she invited everyone in and called up to her son, who came thundering down the stairs in search of food.

“Thank you, Mrs. McCarthy,” Marjorie said as she pressed a napkin into Arthur’s free hand. “And Lady Felicia. This was so thoughtful of you.”

“No trouble at all,” Mrs. McCarthy responded, looking delighted to have such an enthusiastic connoisseur of her food in the young boy. “You just let me know if you need anything else later. I’m always happy to stop by with more meals for you.”

“And I completely understand if you need to drop out of baking for the NFPR fundraiser,” Lady Felicia said. “There’s no need to put that on yourself on top of all that’s happened.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Marjorie said. “I feel like maybe I still ought to contribute, in memory of Bill?”

“You just let me know what you decide. I have plenty of alternates lined up if you can’t do it,” Lady Felicia assured her.

“Marjorie, I was wondering if I might have a chat with Arthur upstairs?” Father Brown asked. “I’d like to see how he’s doing.”

“Yes, that would be all right.”

Father Brown left the ladies to chat and went upstairs, where he found Arthur playing with a train in his room with the door cracked open. He knocked on the door frame.

“Hullo, Arthur, may I join you?”

The boy nodded, and Father Brown entered and sat on his bed. “That’s a very nice train you have there.”

Arthur offered it up to him and said, “My dad helped me put it together.”

“Your dad was very good at that sort of thing,” Father Brown said. “He loved you very much.”

Arthur nodded. “Mum said he’s in heaven now.”

“That’s right,” Father Brown agreed. “But it’s okay to be sad and miss him.”

Arthur nodded again and took back his train.

Father Brown watched him play on the floor for a minute before asking, “Arthur, did you hear anything strange last night? A loud noise perhaps?”

Arthur nodded. “Like Mr. Hewitt’s old car. It makes really loud noises sometimes.” He got up and went to the window. “I thought it was funny he was driving at night, so I got up to look.”

“Did you see a car?”

Arthur shook his head. “No. I saw a lady in the garden with Dad.”

Father Brown joined him at the window and cocked his head. “A lady? What were she and your father doing?”

“Dad was sleeping. The lady tried to wake him. He wouldn’t wake up so she left. Then I was tired, so I went back to bed.” Arthur shrugged. “Sometimes Dad sleeps in funny places. I thought maybe he wanted to be outside in the breeze.”

“Could it have been your mother you saw?” Father Brown asked.

“No. She had a limp, like Dad does. Mum doesn’t walk like that.”

A woman with a limp at the scene of the crime soon after Bill Reeves was shot. That was a very interesting bit of information.

Father Brown left Arthur with his train and was coming back downstairs when there was a knock on the door. Marjorie got up to open it to find Sid standing on the front stoop.

“Mrs. Reeves,” Sid nodded.

Marjorie blinked at him before recognition dawned in her eyes. “You must be Sid Carter. Ernie’s talked about you.”

Sid flushed at that news but nodded. “I’m sorry about your husband,” he said. “Um, Father Brown and the ladies said they’d be here?”

“You’ve found us,” Father Brown said, coming to the door. Marjorie invited him in, but Sid lingered by Father Brown as she went back to the kitchen.

“No one’s heard about Bill doing extra business on the side,” he told the priest.

Marjorie turned around. “Do you think it could have had something to do with his work?”

Sid shrugged. “It was just a thought.”

“I’m not so sure,” Father Brown said once they’d all been seated around the table. Sid grabbed for a pie, ignoring Mrs. McCarthy’s glare. “I’ve just been upstairs with Arthur, and he mentioned that he heard the gunshot.”

“Oh, my God!” Marjorie gasped with a hand over her mouth.

“Not to worry, he thought it was a car backfiring. But he did say he looked out the window, and saw a woman with a limp with Bill.” Father Brown leaned forward. “Do you have any idea who that might have been?”

Marjorie’s eyes darted back and forth. “A woman with a limp?”

“Could it have been another polio survivor?” Lady Felicia suggested.

“But why?” cried Marjorie.

“That is still the question. But this narrows the search a bit.”

Lady Felicia pulled a notebook from her handbag. “Let’s see if she’s signed up for the fundraiser.” She offered it to Marjorie. “Do you recognize any of these names?”

Mrs. McCarthy leaned over Marjorie’s shoulder. “Oh, Mrs. Cornell always burns the bottoms of her tarts. Why volunteer to bring food for others when you can’t cook?”

“I don’t think that poor baking necessarily leads to murder,” Father Brown reminded her.

Mrs. McCarthy sniffed. “Shows what you know, Father.”

Marjorie tapped a name. “Rosaline Smythe. Bill’s had to fix their fuse box at least four times in the past few weeks. I’m not sure if she has a limp, though.”

Father Brown gave a bland smile. “Why don’t we pay her a visit and see for ourselves.”

* * *

Lady Felicia knocked on the Smythe’s door, with her companions waiting behind her. A few moments later, a young woman in a blue plaid housedress with thick black hair held back in a plait opened the door. She blinked at them.

“Lady Felicia! This is a surprise. Was I supposed to be expecting you?”

Lady Felicia smiled warmly. “Sorry to intrude, Rosaline. I should have called ahead, but we happened to be in the area. Have you heard about Marjorie Reeves’ husband?”

Rosaline’s face froze, but she shook her head.

“Well, he’s been found murdered just this morning. Poor Marjorie’s in such a state. She was supposed to make some pies for the fundraiser this weekend, and help with the decorating, but I thought I’d ask around for other people to help pick up the slack, give her a bit of a reprieve. You didn’t happen to know Bill, did you?”

Rosaline nodded, and then snapped out of her daze. “How horrible! Come in, come in, let’s see what I can do to help.” She led them to the sitting room.

“She has a limp!” Mrs. McCarthy mouthed to Father Brown, who nodded in acknowledgement.

“Bill’s done work on our house a few times,” Rosaline said as she saw her guests seated. “He was so helpful.” Her chin quavered a bit, but she bit her lip to steady herself. “Just a moment, let me get some refreshments.”

“I’ll help,” Father Brown offered, following her slowly to the kitchen.

“Do they have any idea how it happened?” Rosaline asked him once they were alone and she was gathering the china.

“His cousin’s the main suspect. He’s in police custody now.”

Rosaline dropped a saucer on the counter, where luckily it clattered but didn’t crack. “No!”

Father Brown reached to hold her shaking hands. He looked up when Sid dashed into the hall. “No need for alarm, Sid, just a case of butter fingers,” he said. Sid nodded and reluctantly left them.

Once they were alone again, Father Brown said, “Is there anything you’d like to talk about, Rosaline? You seem quite upset.”

“It wasn’t Bill’s cousin, Father,” she said.

“No, it wasn’t. It would be a shame for him to be punished for a crime he didn’t commit, but unfortunately, the police are convinced he did the deed.”

Rosaline’s face crumpled. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she said.

“Young Arthur happened to wake up when he heard the gunshot,” Father Brown said slowly. “His bedroom window looks out on the front garden, where he saw a woman with a limp trying to wake his father.” He paused. “Rosaline, an innocent man’s life is at stake.”

She pulled her hands from the priest’s grasp. “You think I killed him.”

“Whatever happened, God will forgive you, but first you must confess.”

Rosaline eased herself awkwardly into one of the kitchen chairs and massaged at her upper thigh. “I loved him. He might not have been the gentlest man, but he understood this.”

“You both suffered from polio.”

She nodded. “I know it wasn’t right, Father, but I couldn’t help what I feel.”

“We can’t help our feelings, no, but we must take responsibility for our actions.”

Rosaline hung her head. “We tried to keep it discreet. Sometimes I’d short out the fuses and call in a job for him, to give him an excuse to come over during the day. I never meant to hurt his wife, or his son.”

Father Brown sat next to her and held her hand again. “What happened last night, Rosaline?”

She began to cry softly. “The polio’s not finished with you once the disease has passed, you know? His leg was getting worse. He told me that some days he could barely get out of bed, it was so bad. He hated how it was crippling him. He was so proud.” She wiped her eyes. “He stopped by with a letter last night; told me not to open it till this morning. Of course I couldn’t wait.” She stopped, and had to rock back and forth a bit before she gathered herself enough to wheeze out, “It was a suicide note. He wanted to end it on his terms, before he was confined to a chair.”

Father Brown wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Bill’s decision was his own.”

“I tried to stop him, but I was too late,” she continued. “I never meant to frame anyone, honest! I just didn’t want everyone to know he’d done it to himself.”

“You put the gun in the truck.”

She nodded. “I thought they’d chalk it up to a random tragedy, with no evidence to go on. How stupid of me.”

“You did it with the best intentions in your heart,” Father Brown said. “But that doesn’t change the consequences. You must tell the police what’s happened.”

“They’ll never believe me,” she moaned. “They’ll think I did it.”

“If Bill pulled the trigger as you said he did, he’ll have residue on his fingers. Bring the letter he left you,” Father Brown told her, “and trust in God. ”

* * *

Ernie walked out of the police station, squinting up at the sunny sky, and was tackled around the legs by Arthur.

“Heya, kiddo. How’re you doing? I missed you, too.”

Arthur sniffed and rubbed his face on Ernie’s trousers before backing off to let his mother pull Ernie into a tight hug.

“I’m so glad,” she murmured into his neck. “I couldn’t bear to lose you both in one fell swoop.”

“I wouldn’t have done that to you, Margie, I promise,” he told her. He looked over her shoulder at Father Brown. “Thanks for helping me out, Father. You don’t know what that means to me.”

Father Brown smiled. “It was my pleasure.” He placed a hand on Sid’s shoulder beside him. “We’re all saddened by the truth, of course, but we’re glad to see you walk away a free man.”

Ernie reached out to shake Father Brown’s hand, and then Sid’s, who pulled him into a back slapping hug.

“Next pint’s on me, eh?” Sid said, ruffling his hair.

Ernie squirmed away from him with a grin. “I’ll hold you to that.” They held eye contact a few seconds longer, before Ernie turned to slip Marjorie’s hand through the crook of his arm. “Ready to go home?”

Once Ernie and the Reeves were alone, Marjorie smiled up at him. “Sid seems nice. Bit rough around the edges, but at least he’s friends with a priest?”

Ernie blinked down at her. “Yeah, Sid’s all right. Lucky he told me about the Father’s side hobby.”

She pulled him to a stop, while Arthur ran on ahead home. “Ernie, I know why your parents sent you here. Your mum asked me to keep an eye on you, make sure you were keeping...the right company.”

“Margie—”

“I had a Great-Aunty Arla, you know. She was an old maid until the day she died. Lived with her best friend for fifty years, and was happier than any married woman I’ve ever known.”

One corner of Ernie’s mouth quirked up. “Sounds nice.”

“I got married because I thought that’s what I was supposed to do, and I stayed that way because I take my vows seriously. I don’t regret Arthur, of course, but don’t make the same mistakes I did.” She squeezed his arm. “You should be happy.”

“Bill never deserved you, Margie.”

“No, he didn’t, did he?”

They continued home arm in arm, to the promise of safety, love, and meat pies.

  
  
  


_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> In addition to the tags, content warnings also for:
> 
>   * references to spousal abuse
>   * internalized homophobia
>   * internalized ableism
>   * death by firearm
>   * suicide
> 



End file.
